The 14 days grace that rallying boats are allowed to remain on the towpath moorings outside Braunston Marina was up on Sunday, so on Saturday morning the Boys and I returned to shift the boat west to the outskirts of the village.

It was hardly a journey as such at all, perhaps ½ miles at most, but even so short a leg was enough to rekindle the embers of slow boating. Tiller in hand I could feel the stress-knots untying, my heart-rate easing, my perma-frown softening… even if the time spent on the boat was short, this micro-journey allowed my senses to sharpened, my emotions were heightened and I took time to look and listen rather than list-make and worry.

Here are a few image taken during a 15 minute moment in the life of a boat…

We left the car near our proposed mooring and walked back along the towpath to collect the boat. Here’s a novel twist on the ‘STOP ME AND BUY ONE’ ice cream van… Increasingly the towpath’s attracting budding entrepreneurial types, attracted by the lifestyle and a ‘home/vehicle/shop in one… In this mad world this kind of business makes complete sense to me.
A longer-established enterprise – the always popular ‘Gongozzler’s Rest Cafe’ at the entrance to Braunston Marina…
And a couple of traditional boats with a hold of goodies, the Boys were tickled by the fact that the boats were selling model boats!
Butcher’s Bridge in all it’s red brick glory…
Eileen as we’d left her a week since. Our grand ‘old lady’ of a boat…
Passing perhaps my favourite BCN day boat conversion, the ‘Reginald’ is a wonderfully characterful boat and now sporting a gorgeous sounding ‘cracker’ of an engine…
Last view of the marina, much quieter now… the majority of historic boats already left for home moorings and other heritage events over the Summer…
Eileen hardly rippling the water as we glide past…


Bridge 91 is an austere and resolutely functional concrete road bridge, but softened by Summer greenery even it took on a more picturesque aspect.
At the village edge I tried to squeeze the boat into just too tight a mooring. However, luck favoured us and as I struggled I noticed a boat a couple of boat lengths away cast off oreleasing a perfect spot to moor Eileen, it even has concrete bollards upon which to secure her lines.




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